Tara lingered in the doorway of the after-hours bar. She’d relived these exact moments night after night, searching for her sister’s murderer. 

Stepping outside, she paused under the streetlight, before deliberately strolling down the sidewalk. A man stood in the shadows. She bit her lower lip, inhaled sharply, and disappeared into the park.  

Jackson knew her game. His adrenalin surged as he envisioned her struggle and her terror as he ended the game as the winner. He smiled, confidently. 

He quickly closed the distance between them. His movements were routine, polished to the second, like a prowling cougar. He spotted her near the fountain, waiting, begging for what was to come.  

Without hesitation, he claimed his trophy. His leather gloves squeezed her throat. Unexpected terror flashed across his face. Blood surged from the gaping hole in his chest. Gasping, he crumbled to the ground. 

Trembling, Tara stepped over his body and squatted. Slipping the glove from his hand, she gasped. The clues to her sister’s murder, the strange tattoo, the scar, and the ring weren’t there. He wasn’t the man. A mistake. 

A cold numbness replaced her adrenalin.  

As she slipped away, her distorted mind was planning the next move.